


Too Far Gone

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Decapitation, Gore, Graphic, M/M, Necrophilia, Other, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when insanity takes over? Does it rot your flesh? //It must eat away at you\\</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Far Gone

Faster. Harder. Deeper.

 

Those words are on constant replay in your head as you thrust into the mouth, or what's left of it.

How long has this been going on? Minutes? Hours? Days? It doesn't really matter, your sense of reality is slipping at an alarming rate anyways, so none of it is important anymore when you think about it. After being locked into this padded cell and left to rot, why would you care? That partially decapitated head has been your only company for what seems like forever, so even if you feel like their face is familiar, and it defies what little morals you have left, you feel as if you've bonded with it enough to defile it.

 

Squelch. Squish. Slop.

 

Those are the noises you hear as you thrust your blood covered cock into the head's mouth. The cranium is cut in half, resembling a science experiment, which you find amusing, so you can see your dick thrust down into the throat of it. The opening of the mouth into the throat seems to have torn a bit due to the pressure you are putting onto it, but the congealed blood acts as lube. The semen that has been collected near the end of the esophagus is frothing, which is a slight turn-off considering it stands as proof of how many times you've lost control and let your instincts run rampant. 

The top of the throat is loose since the gag reflex is inactive and your dick sometimes catches the wrong way when it meets the two openings, but as you fuck it deeper the flesh surrounding your member becomes wet and tight, which is undoubtedly your breaking point as you clench the remaining locks (you've accidentally pulled the rest of the thick ash-coloured hair out) and release with a moan, some of your cum dripping onto the floor, but most of the thick white substance clinging to the flesh.

You dread the day the head will rot and fall apart, though you realize it is inevitable even if you try to prevent it. But for now, you cradle the half-head in your arms, a poor unknown soul, and promise never to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. This is my first story of this nature, so I apologize for it's crudeness. Constructive criticism is welcome, and so are comments and kudos! Thank you once again.


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